


From The Moment We Met I Knew You'd Be Hard to Forget

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon - Movie, M/M, pre-movie canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: Three firsts.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 39
Kudos: 485





	From The Moment We Met I Knew You'd Be Hard to Forget

The first time they fuck, it is rough, violent, barely a step away from the mutual murdering they have recently decided to cease. 

The word _fuck_ is crude, and not one Yusuf would generally use, but in this case, there is none more fitting. When Nicolò suddenly grabs him by the shoulders as they sit beside the fire, Yusuf's first instinct is to go for his throat. He suppresses it, instead letting Nicolò push him onto the ground and straddle his hips. 

_He is punishing himself for something_ , Yusuf thinks, as Nicolò scrabbles with Yusuf's torn and blood-stained clothing. _And he is punishing me for it, too._ The thought makes Yusuf sad, but again, he does nothing but allow Nicolò to proceed, half-hard already. 

Nicolò—and that is his name, they have managed to work out that much—is from Genoa. Yusuf was surprised to learn it. He never thought much about where the invaders came from, beyond a nebulous _elsewhere_ , but Yusuf knows of Genoa. A "Maritime Republic", they call themselves. He finds it strangely enjoyable to picture Nicolò on some warm, sandy beach on the Tyrrhenian Sea, doing whatever he did before he came here. Yusuf's not sure what that is. Their stilted conversations consisting of mangled Greek, hand signals and occasionally pictograms scratched in the dirt have not yet progressed that far. 

One thing is obvious: Nicolò has never done this. He thrusts inexpertly between Yusuf's dry thighs, dragging his cock against Yusuf in a way that can't be entirely pleasant for him, and is not entirely pleasant for Yusuf. Still, Yusuf obliges him, squeezing tight around his long, slender prick. He wants Nicolò to know that he is not alone, that this deviant idea is something that has crossed Yusuf's mind, as well. Nicolò lets out a string of words Yusuf assumes are either pleas to God, or filthy profanities. 

He comes quickly, coating Yusuf with his sticky spend. Yusuf expects that to be it, for Nicolò to slink away, possibly for good. Instead, he takes Yusuf's cock roughly in hand. Yusuf has never been touched by anyone else, and this is not just anyone. This is the man God, or Fate, or something has bound to him. He is also the most beautiful creature Yusuf has ever seen. He wishes he could savour the sensation, revel in it. Instead, he spends with a groan the moment Nicolò passes his calloused thumb over the tip of Yusuf's prick. 

“Yusuf.” Nicolò's voice is rough, his eyes flashing in the firelight. He looks young, and he looks lost. Yusuf wants to reach out, to gather Nicolò in his arms and reassure him, with his body if he can't do it with words, that everything is going to be all right. Even though Yusuf knows nothing of the sort. 

Before he can do anything, Nicolò stands, abruptly tucks his cock away, and walks off. He doesn't go far; Yusuf can see him still, sitting with his back against a rock on the other side of the clearing where they have made their camp. He resists the voice that tells him to go to him. Instead, he lies down beside the fire. 

Yusuf awakens with the first light of dawn. Nicolò is in what has become his usual place, on the other side of the dying embers, facing away. Yusuf smiles and rises to begin the new day.

***

The first time they sleep together is after Nicolò—now Nico, to Yusuf, which makes Nico smile, so he keeps saying it—dies. 

It is not by Yusuf's hand, for once, and that fills Yusuf with both a profound rage and a fear the likes of which he has never experienced. It is an accident, pure and simple, and it is the simplicity of it that strikes terror in Yusuf's heart. 

They are crossing a small river, knee-deep but with a fast current, and littered with jagged, slippery rocks. Yusuf is some distance ahead, so does not see exactly what happens. It seems Nico puts a foot wrong. There is a cry and a splash, and by the time Yusuf pulls him out, Nico is limp and there is blood in the water. 

He heals, of course. Beneath Yusuf's gaze, the gash on Nico's forehead knits itself back together, the broken arm and leg set themselves, and he jolts awake, coughing up water. Within an hour, he is on his feet again, but if they were not who they are, if they had not been blessed and cursed in the way they have been, that would have been the end of him. Yusuf would have lost him, so simply and so stupidly, and there would have been nothing he could do about it. 

It's an obvious realization, but not one that has struck him before. It makes him feel ill, this idea that Nico could in an instant be taken away from him by forces outside his control. _Who knows_ , he thinks as they continue walking, _how long this blessed curse will last? Who knows what might break it?_ They are no closer to understanding it now than they were the first time they awoke, side-by-side on the quiet battlefield, surrounded by corpses. And if they do not understand it, how can they hope to control it?

When night falls, they make camp as usual. Most nights are spent beneath the stars. They are not sure where, exactly they are headed—Yusuf thinks Greece, perhaps, while Nico still harbours thoughts of returning home that seem impossible to Yusuf, although he hasn't had the heart to tell him so—but most of the people they come across are leery of a Christian and a Muslim travelling together. It's easier to keep to themselves and to the countryside, venturing into towns and villages only when necessary. 

This gives them the privacy, as well, to continue what Nico started all those months ago. It has become a little gentler, and they have both become a bit more skilled. Yusuf has taken to using his mouth, at times, to sliding up Nico's fascinating foreskin and lapping at his slit. Nico reacts with enthusiasm, gripping Yusuf's hair and thrusting into his mouth with an abandon that could potentially cause problems, if they were not who they were. Yusuf loves it, but it is still fucking, and Nico still pulls away as soon as they have both spilled. 

Tonight, Yusuf prevents Nico's escape. Instead of letting go, Yusuf draws him nearer, wrapping his arms around Nico's waist. Nico stiffens in his grasp, but Yusuf turns them both onto their sides, pressing his body into Nico's back, his arm tightening around Nico as if he would fuse the two of them into one. That is how it feels sometimes: that he and Nico are two halves of a whole being. Yusuf hasn't told him that. They still don't have the depth of shared vocabulary that would allow him to express such thoughts aloud. 

Apparently, it's not needed. Nico communicates perfectly well, and says all Yusuf wants to hear, when he puts his own arm atop Yusuf's, holding it in place against his stomach. He relaxes, all tension spooling out of him, and Yusuf buries his nose in the nape of Nico's neck. He's warm and soft, and Yusuf delights in the rhythmic, _living_ rise and fall of his breath until he himself falls asleep. 

***

The first time they make love is after Yusuf dies. 

It's not his first death, of course, or even his tenth. It is, however, the goriest to date. 

Yusuf's not sure exactly how long he and Nico have been together. Time already feels different, but it must have been several years. They made it to Greece and, while they don't have anything like a permanent home, they have found a few hidden places where they can spend more than a night or two at a stretch. 

These nights are often consumed by dreams of two women. Yusuf supposes he should be surprised that he and Nico dream in tandem, but he finds nothing shocks him anymore, not when it comes to his beloved. That is what he has started to call Nico, in every language they know, as soon as they learn the words. Nico rolls his eyes, but he also kisses Yusuf often, quick and light on the cheek or the nose or the lips.

Stroking Nico's hair, Yusuf gets up from their bed and leaves the little cave they have made their own. It is not what Nico deserves. Yusuf wishes to give him a palace, a kingdom, a country of his own, but for now, caves and abandoned hovels have to suffice. This one is home-like, at least, with rugs and pillows and fresh flowers Yusuf buys so frequently, the women in the marketplace have taken to teasing him about what a wonderful husband he will make one day. In his own mind, he is married already. 

Yusuf emerges from this cave as he does every morning, to pray as he has done all of his life and continues to do, even as Nico questions his own faith. Yusuf can't fault him for his uncertainty. Yusuf is far from sure himself, but this ritual is as much about routine as it is about religion. 

He has barely set down his mat when he sees them: a group of men riding at full tilt up the hill towards him. 

Yusuf has time, just, to call out to Nico. He doesn't have time to go back and arm himself with the small arsenal they have gathered in the cave. He squares his shoulders, ready to meet the men head on. This turns out to be literally what he does. Without preamble or explanation, the leader puts out a sword and lops off Yusuf's head. 

Yusuf awakens to throbbing pain, everywhere, although the agony in his neck, shoulders and throat is by far the worst. It is so overwhelming, he doesn't even realize Nico is with him until he cracks open his eyes—the right seems blind still, although there is some vision out of the left—and sees his beloved's face looking down at him, worry marring his exquisite features. 

Yusuf tries to speak, to push past the nails driving into his throat to comfort Nico. Only a raspy gasp comes out. 

“Yusuf!” Nico wipes at his face with the back of his hand. It's only then that Yusuf notices he has been crying, and his heart seizes in sympathy. “Be still,” Nico goes on, gently pushing him back down when Yusuf attempts to sit up. “I didn't know if it was going to work this time.” 

“Wh--” Is all Yusuf can get out. 

Nico, brilliant as he is, knows just what he is trying to say. “Bandits,” he replies. “There is a story circulating in the village, I think, that we are hoarding some kind of treasure here.” 

“Y---” 

“I killed them.” 

Pride swells in Yusuf's chest. He'd always known Nico was an excellent fighter. He'd been at the wrong end of his sword enough times himself, but he had seen at least four men in the group before he was killed. Nico must have been resplendent indeed taking them all down. Yusuf wishes he could have seen it. “They cut off your head. I didn't think you could come back from that.” 

_I did. I wouldn't leave you. You won't be rid of me that easily._ Yusuf wants to say all of that. All he can manage is another mumble and a squeeze of Nico's hand that is not nearly as reassuring as he would like. 

They cannot stay here, obviously. As soon as Yusuf can stand, Nico puts an arm around his waist and helps him hobble away, past a pile of bodies Yusuf cannot help but look upon with a smile. He is improving constantly, but it is still slow going. When night falls, they make camp, just like old times, in protected valley where their fire can be hidden from view. 

“Sit there." Nico points to the ground. “I'll gather some wood, see if I can find anything to eat.” Even the sips of water Nico insisted he take along the way felt like daggers to Yusuf's throat. He can't imagine eating anything, but he nods obediently and follows Nico's command. 

When Nico returns, he builds a small fire, lighting it with the tinder box from his pack, all the while shooting worried glances in Yusuf's direction. Yusuf gives him a smile in return. He is so resourceful. Yusuf knows now that he was once a country priest, but he seems much more suited to this sort of life. Made for it, even. 

“Nico. I'm fine. Honestly.” Yusuf's voice is still feeble, but Nico looks up. He holds out a hand. After a moment of what appears to be solemn contemplation, Nico takes it. 

He would never force Nico into anything. The barest touch, the lightest kiss, from this angel on Earth is a gift beyond Yusuf's deserving, and more than he ever expects to receive. His heart quickens and his pulse races, therefore, when Nico slides into Yusuf's lap, puts his arms about his shoulders, and for the first time, kisses Yusuf with open-mouthed passion, his lips and tongue devouring Yusuf's mouth like the finest of delicacies. 

Beautiful Nico steals Yusuf's breath away simply by existing. This erotic display is nearly enough to kill him all over again. _I will go happy, then_ , he thinks, sliding his hands beneath Nico's tunic, feeling the warm skin and the solid muscle beneath. Nico arches his back and Yusuf is undone. 

“Please,” Nico murmurs. "If you are able." Yusuf does not know what he is asking for, but whatever it is, Yusuf will give it to him, even if he has to move mountains, even if he has to slay dragons.

It is more momentous than that. Nico rests his forehead against Yusuf's. Slowly, deliberately, he moves Yusuf's hands to his delectable backside, and Yusuf can do nothing but kiss him again. 

Nico, like Yusuf, would have been taught this act was dirty, degrading, the epitome of sin. Knowing that—and knowing that with Nico, it will be nothing but divine—Yusuf takes his time. He has spent many nights imagining how it might be done, in such detail that he has to shift himself, moving his groin backwards so as not to awaken Nico with a lewd jab he was not expecting. 

With a blush on his cheeks and defiance in his eyes, Nico fetches a vial of oil from his pack. Yusuf puts it to good use, coating his fingers and rubbing across Nico's shoulders, his back, then lower still. At the first tentative breach, Nico stops breathing, and Yusuf freezes. He waits for a sign, anything to indicate Nico wants him to continue, or to stop. Then Nico turns onto his back and pulls Yusuf down, kissing him hard and deep. “More,” he murmurs. Then, again, “Please.” 

The moment he slides inside, Yusuf knows why this act is reviled by those in power. Nico's heat, his tightness, the sound of his panting and the sight of his teeth biting feverishly into his reddened lower lip, is all so perfect, Yusuf knows that, given the choice, he would never do anything else. All other thoughts and desires, including any wish to adhere to the laws of God and man, fly from his mind, and his heart, mind and senses are full of nothing but Nico. 

Yusuf could stay like that forever, gazing down upon his beloved, but Nico whispers, “Move, darling.” 

“Your wish is my command,” is what Yusuf intends to say. Instead, he grunts and follows direction, thrusting carefully and shallowly. 

Nico scoffs, even as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I'm not going to break.” 

Yusuf might. It seems quite possible he could explode from sheer joy. Still, he moves a little faster. Nico's legs wrap around his waist, his heels at Yusuf's back urging him in ever deeper, and Yusuf no longer needs to speculate about the existence of paradise. He is there.

When Yusuf comes, it is saying Nico's name, over and over again, in ecstasy. Nico responds by surging upwards and capturing his lips, allowing Yusuf to fill his mouth with his tongue even as he fills his body with his seed. Before Yusuf has softened, Nico is following him over the precipice, spurting wetly between their bodies. Without thinking, Yusuf swipes a finger through his spend and sucks it into his mouth, relishing the salty taste of him. 

Nico's eyes go wide, and he laughs. “You're filthy,” he says. 

Yusuf cannot deny it. “And I am all yours."

The laugh resolves into a gentle smile, followed by a wince as Yusuf regretfully slides out and moves to lie naked beside Nico. He's unsure what to expect, whether Nico will need some time to himself like he did the first time they came together. To Yusuf's delight, Nico goes nowhere. 

“You had better be,” Nico says. “Because I am never letting you go.” 

Finer words were never spoken. 

He will regret it in the morning, perhaps, but Yusuf doesn't bother taking the time to wash. Instead, he pulls Nico into their usual sleeping position, his chest against Nico's back. Nico comes willingly, pulling his arm further around himself. 

“I love you,” Yusuf says, in Nico's own tongue. Yusuf insisted Nico teach him it, but the words seem inadequate in any language. They do not begin to encompass his feelings. 

Nico doesn't say anything, but he leans more firmly against Yusuf, entwining the hands that rest against his heart. That is all the answer Yusuf needs. 

When Yusuf awakens hours later, the two women from their dreams are standing before them, swords drawn and pointed firmly in their direction.


End file.
